Dial D for Dresden
by sbyamibakura
Summary: Harry/Murphy, Sherlock/John. Set post-Skin Game and post Sherlock S3. When you've seen people you love die, when you yourself die (or as close to as humanly possible), when you become a pawn (a "Knight") to one of the deadliest forces out there...most things don't faze you as they once would.


Dial D for Dresden

By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the BBC and others who are not me. The Dresden Files are property of Jim Butcher. I only own this story and make no profit from this.

Warning: Rated T for language, etc.

Pairings: Harry Dresden/Karrin Murphy, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson.

Setting: Post-Skin Game for Dresden Files, post-Series 3 for Sherlock.

Summary:

A/N: This is dedicated to NatsMiniMe/MissKM for her birthday. You have become one of my dearest friends and I love you very much! I hope you like this!

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When you go through many things in your life, within a short handful of years, nothing much fazes you anymore. When you've seen people you love die, when you _yourself_ die (or as close to as humanly possible), when you become a pawn (a "Knight") to one of the deadliest forces out there...most things don't faze you as they once would. Through all the many scrapes I've been through, I've gained a toughness. That wasn't to say that things couldn't faze me at all, because they could, just that many things didn't bother me as much as they once would.

So when I was called in for a murder case? Yeah, it was old hat to me.

It was a bitingly cold winter, temperatures going into the teens and smaller, the wind chill even worse. Luckily for me, the Winter Knight mantle gave me some insulation against the cold. You'd think it'd help completely, but it didn't. Then again, I suppose it makes sense; the more you give to the Knights, the less human they become, and only humans became Knights. Of course with the Winter Court, there wasn't much in the way of morality, as most people knew it anyway. But there were still things that were done a certain way, and that was one of them.

What _was_ unusual, was not being called in by Chicago PD, as was usually the case. At least before my "death" and a little bit before that. Now it was being called by the Society (it had a much longer name, but it was easier to just call it a Society; especially when in talking about it in front of people who didn't know about it in particular-another way to make sure information didn't leak out unnecessarily.)

I didn't like doing anything that could help John Marcone, the robber baron of Chicago; he was the first vanilla human on the Accords(which were like the geneva convention for the Supernatural). He also ran all the mob things in Chicago. I wasn't a fan of the man, but even if I didn't agree with pretty much everything else he did, you had to admire the efficency in which he ran things in Chicago. Crime had went down and many other things besides. It was infuriating to people like the Chicago PD who had worked for decades to take down the Mob, had been usurped by a Mobster who had done a better job dealing with, and toning down, the Mob better than they had.

But Marcone hadn't been the only one in the Society who asked, so I was willing to take on the case. Plus getting a murder case solved was definitely an important priority. And I, for once, was not in the middle of some huge thing that could involve many lives-and deaths. At least not yet. With my track record it was probably only a matter of time, but as things were now, I'd take the smaller thing to deal with.

I opened up a Way from Demonreach, waving goodbye to Alfred (the spirit also known as Demonreach) and to Ciel my new daughter. That situation was...complicated, to say the least. Suffice to say me and a Shadow of a Fallen Angel's essences sort of merged and...yeah. Complicated. She needed a name though, I couldn't keep calling her "spawn of me and Lash (Lasciel)." And so I named her Ciel. It went with Lasciel and I liked the sound of it. And Ciel was innocent in things; even if the circumstances of her creation and "birth" were unusual, it didn't mean that she didn't deserve to be happy or live and enjoy life. I'd do everything I could to make her as happy as my flesh and blood child Maggie. Maggie, meanwhile, had been thrilled with an older sister. Technically Ciel was younger, but her body and mind were older.

I reach the Society in quick work, silently thanking my late mother for her knowledge of the Ways. It had been invaluable knowledge that had helped me in many situations since learning it. I nod at the guards in front of the door and they silently acknowledge back with a nod of their own. I'd be good here. Well...as good as I could be. The guards here weren't regular vanilla folk; they were some of Odin (yes, _the_ Odin)'s men and they were all very, very formidable warriors. While I might be a bit powerful, I'd be stupid-not to mention suicidal-to take them all on. And I had no reason to, which worked out for me. I liked living. Living was nice. I didn't want to die again. Last time I did, I ended up dealing with a lot of grief and hell.

I reach one of the conference room doors, looking around and shaking my head. Marcone had a weird sense of humor. That was another thing; the Society was built where my old house once stood, before a fire had taken it. I glare at Marcone who looks at me unconcernedly, used to me after our dealings for many years now. Still, that didn't stop me from giving him a nice good glare. He looked pretty much the same as he had the many years ago I first met him; dark hair with a few streaks of silver, a bit of crinkling in the corner of the eyes, the eyes the color of dollar bills. If I didn't know him for a vanilla human, I'd have said he was definitely something supernatural. But then again, with money and the like, one could do many things to keep age at bay, at least on the surface.

Butters was a much nicer site to see than Marcone. Waldo Butters was a coroner for Chicago when he got inadvertently mixed up into the supernatural (...which might have been my fault.) We had become very good friends since then and he had kept Bob, a powerful Spirit of Intellect, away from prying eyes during my "death" and for a little while after my return until I could get things settled.

Thomas wasn't here, but he couldn't always, as he had other important things he had to take care of as well, so I couldn't begrudge him that..Thomas Raith was a White Court vampire, one who fed on Lust. He also happened to be my brother and someone whom I loved very much. We had been through many things together since I first met him at a Red Court Vampire's party. He was one of two people who I trusted to have my back more than anyone else. The other...

Karrin looks up at me and smiles. I smile back at her. Karrin Murphy, former Lieutenant (then Sargeant) of Chicago PD, she had been through many scrapes with me after I first met her years ago. Circumstances in her helping me had got her first demoted then fired, but she had never blamed me for it, no matter how much I apologized. She saw it as something necessary, said it wasn't something she'd do over because who knew how things would have turned out if they had. She was my friend. We had been through so much together it was only fitting that we would have gotten as close as we had. That we would have taken that next step, even if it had taken a long time. Because even if technically I would live longer than a vanilla human like her, with both our lines of work, who knew when death, true death, could come. It was better to live and be happy with one another than to worry too much about the what-if's. I loved her. And she loved me.

I turn back to Marcone, frowning. "So what is it? I didn't exactly get much information on the phone."

"Better not to risk who might possibly overhear," Marcone says, blandly. "And with your track record of electronic mishaps, best to keep it as brief as possible."

He...had a point. But I didn't like agreeing with him so I scowled out of mere principal.

"If you two are done bickering," Karrin pipes up, shaking her head. She looked amused though.

I take a seat, half admiring the nice looking table. It was a rich looking mahogany, with many leather chairs around it. It probably cost more than my old car, the Blue Beetle, had.

"So what's the deal then?"

"It was brought to my attention from one of my men. It has all the makings of...the unusual," Marcone starts. The gray-blue suit he was wearing _also_ probably cost more than my old car as well. He was very well off, to say the least. Crime paid. At least for him.

"And? I mean, it's probably something that can be taken care of from-"

"They're stretched thin enough as it is right now, Harry." Karrin says, frowning. "Rawlins is having a hard enough time keeping a good budget with what little they give him. They don't need anymore on their plate right now."

I wave a hand. "Right, right. Sorry. Okay, so we have a dead body. And?"

"And," Marcone continues smoothly. If he was annoyed, he wasn't showing it. He was good at that. "there were also witnesses. My men brought them here."

"Okay," I say, dragging out the word. There was something I was missing here. "And the problem is?"

"Uh," Butters pipes up this time. I glance at him. His shock of black hair was relatively tame today; his girlfriend must have been helping with that. "It's because they're..."

Karrin snorts. "That's what they _say_ they are. They're obviously crazy. Don't tell me you _believe_ them, Waldo?"

He shrugs. "I...I don't know. I mean, there's many things I never would have believed before, but I've seen those very things in front of my eyes. So why not? Weirder things have happened. Weirder things have _definitely _happened before."

I was lost. "Someone fill me in. I have no idea what you're talking-or in this case, _not_ talking-about."

Marcone waves a hand, and I turn behind me to see a guard letting a couple of people in.

One was shorter, with lighter hair. The way he held himself reminded me of Morgan, a former Warden, in a way. That bearing. Military? Miltary or ex-Military.

The other was taller, with dark and curly-esque hair. He wore a long (woolen looked like?) coat and a scarf. The other I couldn't really get a read for.

I had never met either of them before, but something was nagging at me about them and I wasn't sure what.

"Gentlemen," Marcone says, talking to the new people in the room (after the guard leaves.) "If you would tell Mister Dresden your names?"

"Well," the taller one starts. That accent. Very definitely British. "before I do that, I believe I will-"

The shorter one nudges the taller one. The taller guy sighs. "_Fine_. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my partner John Watson."

...

_WHAT_?!

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I look helplessly at everyone else. Karrin was right, these guys were...but no. Butters looked convinced. Hell, _Marcone_, looked convinced. Holy shit. They couldn't really...

"But..." I sputter. "How?!"

The shorter one, Watson? (no he couldn't, _they _couldn't, really be...) shrugs. "Dunno." he says. He was definitely British too. "Was following Sherlock chasing this guy and there was a flash of light and..." he gestures around. "Ended up here. Never would have believed it myself if I didn't experience that."

"Even the impossible can be proven possible, John." Sherlock (_Sherlock?!_) says. Sherlock walks around the room a bit, looking people over. He looks at me most of all. "I already said all I needed to say about you lot, but you," his attention now focused at me. "I haven't."

"Never married," Sherlock continues. "one...no, two children. No family other than a brother. Lived alone for a long time. Currently in a relationship with Miss Murphy."

I feel my eyebrows raise high up on my head. "How did you..."

John shakes his head. "He does that. Sorry."

Sherlock glances at him. "Why are you apologizing?"

"So..." I struggle to take in all the information I had just been dealt within a short period of time. I thought I had seen it all, or as close to as possible. I was certainly wrong. "There are a couple of questions."

"How did we get here and what happened to cause a murder." Sherlock supplies.

"Yeah. That."

"Well for us, we were chasing down a man, as John said. Or what I thought was a man. After some searching around and gathering evidence, I came to the conclusion that the man was responsible for at least a dozen murders in London in the past few weeks. We nearly had him when there was a flash of light. When my eyes were able to focus again, we were completely somewhere else. Here, in fact. The man had been able to get away before we could right ourselves completely."

"It was a wonder that he didn't get us while we were still adjusting." John says, mostly to Sherlock.

"He must have had something much more pressing to do. Plus we were in a more populated area when we arrived, so he must have been afraid of someone interveining." Sherlock says. "Suffice to say, he escaped. But not before we came across a couple of things left in his wake."

He pulls something out of his pocket. It was a scrap of cloth, blood splattered on it. "This. And another body."

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I was still in quite a bit of disbelief at their identities, but from every account and everything else...it seemed to be legit. So I was currently talking to the actual Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. They were more...updated, as it were. But they were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Then again, should I have been so surprised? Bob had even said a long time ago that there were other dimensions out there. The question was, not if they were real (that had been established as, yes, they are real) but _how_ they arrived here.

"I suppose," I mutter. "because of the state of the Nevernever." The Nevernever had been in flux for a long time. The Shadowman years ago had even said it was weakening. Considering it was a gateway of a sort, perhaps that made it easier for them to get through to here from some means. The "man" they had been talking about could have been a Wizard or Warlock or anything else. Someone who could have made a portal out of there.

Which is why I was here now looking over the scene with them. It was grizzly. The person, man or woman (it was impossible to tell now with the state of what was left) had been literally torn apart. Blood was everywhere, bits of organ, of skin, of tissue, of bone, were sprayed across the alley walls.

It also had the faint scent (though scent wasn't the real word for it, it was the closest thing that fit) of magic. The man they had been following was certainly, as if the scene of the crime didn't spell it out, involved in the supernatural. But if that was the case, why would he run from Holmes and Watson and not outright kill them? Could he not for some reason?

"I wonder," Sherlock says, startling me a bit of my thoughts. He too was looking over the scene just as thoroughly. "As I'm sure you have, the nature of this man. I know what I said before, but that was mostly just for John's benefit." John who was currently talking to Karrin over in the distance. "I'm sure if he had been able to, he would have killed us. Very likely in the same manner as this poor woman."

I glance back at the mess. I tried my best not to throw up. I look back at him. "How can you tell it was a woman?"

"There is enough bones left to tell."

"I've been wondering the same thing as you though." I say. "If he could do this, then why not to you? Why flee from you? Other than the scrap, did you get anything else from your investigating?" The scrap had been a dud, unfortunately. If the man's blood had been the blood on the scrap, I could have used Thamaturgy to track him down but it had been someone elses. And no hairs or anything else of use was on the scrap to track him down with.

"Yes, but let's talk about it where me and John first arrived. I assume that place will be important for you to look over as well."

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He was right. If the other place had faint hints of magic, this place was _humming_ with it. The biggest concentration I find to the left of the dead end alleyway. That had to be where they came from.

"So he couldn't do what he wanted to you all, even when he arrived here..." I say softly. Looking carefully around the brick where the "entrance" had been. Probably still was, in some fashion. "But after awhile he was able to."

"Marcone said you're a wizard." Sherlock says calmly, as if the word didn't faze him. "Perhaps the man is like you. Or...perhaps something close to. If he was like you, I assume he wouldn't have had as much of a problem. Perhaps not as powerful then."

Damn the man was smart. For something he had little knowledge of, he still somehow knew a lot. He really _was _good at reading the situation.

"That's what I'm thinking to. He could bit a two-bit sorcerer who managed to gain a little power. Or he may not have any particular power on his own. I've seen something like this. He could have used power through a ritual. Anyone can use a ritual. It doesn't rely on any power you might have; it works with external sources."

"So he could do this ritual thing and have someone do the heavy lifting for him." John says, coming up from behind us.

"Exactly." John Watson was very smart too.

"I assume that from the way you spoke that one can do more than one ritual," Sherlock says, a gloved hand moving around the brick."So perhaps the reason he could not hurt us was because the ritual hadn't been complete or he had to wait a certain amount of time for it to work."

"Essentially. There are a ton of different rituals that are done in different ways. The White Council, a council of the most powerful wizards, do their best to put a stop to the powerful rituals, but with everything else going on, their hands are pretty full. Anyway, depending on the ritual he did it could have a long waiting time or specific thing he needs to complete it. I've seen rituals before that try and target specific people but end up hitting other people instead. So you two might have been lucky. The poor woman murdered wasn't lucky, obviously, but that could have been you."

"And it could keep happening if we don't put a stop to it, right?" John asks. I nod. "Then let us help. We may not have magical skills like you do, but if this guy is doing rituals that take some time to get going, we are playing on a more level playing field. And I bet this would do him in just as much as something magical would." He pulls out a revolver.

"And I'm sure this was pretty important to the man as well." Sherlock says. He pulls something out of his pocket that could only be described as a wand.

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I look over the wand. It was golden and had a few strange marking on its side. I wasn't positive, but it certainly could have been a tool used specifically for the rituals the murderer had been using. As I fiddle with it, the top of it comes loose. I open it up and I eye it, smirking. This? I could use this.

"What is it, Harry?" Karrin asks.

I turn to look at her, pulling out a hair.

"Our way to the murderer."

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The hair had been deep inside the wand, so it obviously wasn't any of ours that had somehow got into it. And with what I could tell from the situation and how the murderer had been using rituals to kill people, he obviously used this as his focus for most, or all, of it. That was also probably the reason it had taken so long to get the ritual up that ended up killing that woman in the alley so horribly; without his focus it was much more difficult to do it. Especially if he wasn't an actual practitioner. Me, as someone who could do magic, I used focuses to help direct my magic easier. But magic was an innate thing in me. I could magic without focuses; they only helped to focus. But this person obviously was not a practioner, or at least was a very, very weak one. He had to have tools to do things for him as he could not do them on his own. He must have had something to help open a Way, a portal, as well. If he was as weak as I assumed him to be, then he had to have another tool to help with the opening, as he would not have been able to do it on his own, if he were so weak.

I hurry and gather the materials I needed to cast the spell, glad I had gathered them up when I did. It would take a few minutes, but the hair was a good one. It should send us where we needed to. And hopefully before the murderer committed any more crimes.

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The spell finishes up and the wand lights up. I would use it as the focus and follow where it led us. We hurry down the alleyway, moving up and down a few streets, moving into more alleyways. The guy had really been around town. I look back and everyone was keeping up well with me, which I was glad for, considering I was taller and had a longer stride. Sherlock and John looked like they were used to running around, as I was. Then again, if they were solving murders, chasing murderers and such around, I suppose they were.

Eventually we come to a derelict looking building. It looked pretty abandoned; the front was boarded up, save for some loose boards on the door (which I assumed had been moved by the murderer so he could get inside.)

I hold out a hand.

"This is where the spell stops." I say quietly. "We don't know what could be coming though, so be cautious."

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The hallway was quiet, but there were many different ways to go. The guy could be anywhere.

"Split up?" Karrin asks.

"I don't know if-"

Sherlock takes off before I can finish my sentence. John shrugs and heads off in another direction. I sigh. I take off to the right and Karrin goes another way. I come into what looked like what used to be a library or study room of some sort. Couches were barely held together, stuffing, paper and books littered the floor. But there was nothing else of note.

I start to turn to head back out when I hear a loud thumping sound. Then I hear screaming.

Karrin.

I hurry.

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I thunder up the stairs, all but soaring as I hurry down the hallway. The door was already open.

"Oh, god, blood. Kar-"

"It's not hers." John pants from the side. "It was already here. I've got her, she's just unconscious from something the man did. I'm a Doctor. I can take care of her. But Sherlock already went ahead. I think he got hit with something." I look at him. Karrin. Thank god she was okay. The ritual must have been starting or the man had a tool he used. It'd take a bit to knock Karrin out. I look where he points. Where the door to a closet would be, a shining portal was in its place. "Please. If anything happened to him, I..."

"Shit." I curse. "Look after her!" I run into the portal.

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I was standing on a dock by the bay in front of a warehouse. I wasn't that surprised. Warehouses were used quite frequently for many things, including nefarious ones. I hurry as fast as I'm able, using some of the power of the Winter Knight Mantle to help.

There was a blood trail leading forward. Sherlock's blood.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I get further inside. I had felt energies like this before. Maybe not the exact ones. But the intent, the _evil_, I had felt it before. Whatever the man was doing was not going to be good. And who knew just how much the reach of the Being called in the ritual would reach.

"Dresden!"

I whip my head around. Sherlock. He was alive. He clutches his shoulder, where I could see blood flowing down from it. That must have been what John was talking about.

"Are you alright? I-"

"I'm fine. It went clean through. I can have John handle it later, but we have to take care of this first. I couldn't catch him. He has someone with him. A-" he coughs a bit. "A sacrifice."

He moves ahead and I'm quick to follow him. There were stains on the concrete and it turns my stomach to realize where we had ended up. I had been at this warehouse before, a few times. I had watched a young man get executed here by the Wardens of the White Council. He had been a warlock, had done many bad things, but he had still been so young. So young. All Wardens wore gray cloaks. Gray didn't show any blood.

"Of course he picked this place." I muttered. This place had been used for other things as well, much more dark things. It held a darkness about it that made it easy for people to pick it, even if they didn't realize the reason they picked this particular place.

As we get further in, I could hear a soft, non-stop, chanting, the smell of incense, blood and other nasty things. The man had to keep chanting to complete the ritual. Any interruption and it would be stopped.

I pull out my new blasting rod, letting the energy gather within me, letting my anger help build it up.

"Wait, Dresden!" Sherlock hisses. "He's not alone. That's what hit me."

I stop and quickly jump back as I nearly get hit by a something. The head of a man, the body of a lion and the tail of a snake. A chimera. I had never seen any in my life, but I had heard stories. It was huge, easily ten feet tall.

"I was lucky. The place was small so it could only get its tail through the doorway. If I had been any closer it surely would have killed me."

"Alright. I've got this, you take care of the guy."

"What do I need to do?"

"Anything. If you stop his chanting, interrupt the circle, destroy anything in the circle he's using for the ritual, it'll stop it cold." I thrust my blasting rod at the beast. "_Fuego!_"

A blast of flame shoots forth from the blasting rod, hitting it square in the chest. It roars in pain. I jump quickly back steps as it swipes at me with a massive claw, thankful (for once) of the Mantle; if I had been any slower it would have skewered me. He must have had this thing holed up in the warehouse from awhile ago. Or perhaps he had been unable to let it out until he arrived in this world. But that didn't matter. Regardless of the cause, I had to take care of it; if it got loose, Chicago would become a massacred town.

I prep another spell, this time using my outstretched hand, drawing directly from the Mantle for this one. "_Infriga_!" The blast of cold and ice hits it again, freezing the places it touched. But I don't stop there. With my other hand I throw my blasting rod up and pull my staff from my back. "_Ventas Servitas!_" and grab the blasting rod with my other hand as the beast gets sailed quickly airborne from the wind of my spell, hitting hard against the metal roof. As it falls, I hold out my staff and blasting rod both. "_Ventas Infriga!_"

A huge blast of wind, mixed liberally with ice, blasts through the beast so hard it leaves a gaping hole. It falls to the ground with a huge thud.

It was dead.

I gasp from the amount of power I used in such a short period. I had to hand it to Mab; while her training had been hellish to the umpth degree, it helped me control and use my power more effectively than I ever had before.

I stop. Gunshots.

I rush past the beast as soon as I'm sure it wouldn't be getting back up again and rush to where Sherlock had went to confront the man.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The altar the man had been using was in tatters. I could see fresh blood on the ground, but it was from Sherlock's wound as well as from the man who was clutching his leg, screaming in pain. I didn't recognize the man. The world was a big place and I knew there were bad people out there. I had dealt with some directly before.

"You bastard! You bastard!" the man screams. "I was nearly there! I nearly did it! They would have been so happy! They would have!"

"But what were you doing in my world?!" Sherlock demands, holding the gun in his hand tight despite having to have been in a considerable amount of pain. "Why did you target so many people?! People I love nearly died because of you!"

"I-had to!" the man wheezes. "They-they needed more victims. They told me to get more. I travelled. I didn't mean to end up there, but the Ways! The Nevernever is acting strange. It doesn't feel right!"

"None of that gives you any excuse, no matter where you went! Murdering people!" I exclaim. "And for who?!"

The man laughs and laughs. Cackles. "Like you do not know, Harry Dresden! I may be weak but my masters are not! And they'll make you wish for death for _years _before finally giving you the satisfaction! You will wish you did not exist! The agonies they can inflict upon the world is infinite!"

Sherlock shoots him in his other leg. The man screams again.

"You think mere words would frighten? You obviously do not know who you're messing with. Man, woman, child, evil, good. None of these things matter in the face of someone who messes with what you care about." Sherlock says. "You nearly killed John. If I hadn't have been there-! And you'll pay for what you-"

He goes to shoot the gun again. "Wait!" I exclaim. He turns and glances at me. "I know how you feel. I do, truly. But we can't kill him. Not before we get more answers from him. He-"

"I will never give you the satisfaction!" the man exclaims. "I will die happily for my masters! But know this, Harry Dresden; everything you love will lie dead at your feet when all of this is over! My masters never lie! I die gladly for you, my masters! Mavra, I die in your name!"

And he shoots himself.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"That's enough!" Karrin says, angrily. "I'm _fine_!"

"Just leave her be, John. She's stubborn." I say, smirking.

"And the pot calling the kettle black is...?"

"But really," I say, more seriously now. "Thanks for your help back there. Both of you."

"Don't mention it." John said. "I didn't exactly do much though."

"You did plenty. You kept Karrin safe and that is the most important thing to me."

"And you kept Sherlock safe."

I nod. "We all have things we have to protect. Which is why he hurried ahead. He-"

"I know." John says, smiling. "I love him too."

Wow. So they. Huh. Good for them.

Sherlock walks into the room. We were back at the Society. Marcone had some of his men clean up evidence of things at the house we had went to as well as the warehouse. There would be more blood staining the concrete yet again. But no one ever asked questions.

"Come on, John; it's time we go."

John gives a nod to Karrin. "Despite the horrifying nature of the experience, I can't say it wasn't a pleasure to meet you Miss Murphy."

Karrin smiles. "Please, call me Karrin."

"Then call me John."

She nods. "Goodbye, John."

I follow them out, but not before giving Karrin a swift kiss. "Harry."

"I'm glad you're okay." I say, putting my forehead to hers. "I'll be back soon, promise."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We head back to the alleyway. It was where they had first appeared and would be the best way to get them back. Luckily the energies were still open here, so all I had to do was open it like I would a regular Way and they would be able to return.

"No offense, Mister Dresden," John says, extending his hand. "But I'd quite like not to meet for a good while."

"None taken. And it's Harry." I say, shaking his hand. He had a firm grip. "Keep at it, soldier. Someone's got to keep an eye on Sherlock, I'm sure."

"Always." he chuckles. "And how did you know I was a soldier?"

"Sherlock isn't the only one who can read people sometimes."

He nods, and after a look at Sherlock, heads through the portal I opened up.

"It was an experience I shan't forget soon," Sherlock says to me. I shake his hand too. "I expect you to come visit soon; I want to know more about your world and how things work."

I laugh. "Sure thing. I mean, I'd love to see Lestrade and everyone else."

He smirks. "Indeed. Until next time then, Harry Dresden."

He heads into the portal. I close it and let out a breath.

As I start to walk out, I think about a few things. Oh! Now I remember why they looked familiar! Weren't there a couple of guys who looked like them on a show in England? Now what was it called again...?

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I hope you enjoyed this!

Let me know what you thought!

-PhoenixJustice


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